


Heavy Lies the Crown

by Anjelle



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe, Deception, Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Romance, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:35:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2361377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anjelle/pseuds/Anjelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four kingdoms are stuck in a perpetual war. If they make their move, the joker will make his, and so they've been stuck like this for centuries. Sabo decides he's had enough, that he'll end it, even if the other three kings become casualties to bring about that end. But when he kills the first, Ace, he doesn't expect to be stuck with him until his goal is met--if his sanity lasts that long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this here is just a short prologue for this new story, which should be really fun later on. I can't fit this scene into the first chapter so I decided to put it here as the prologue. I'll explain further in the first chapter so for now all you need to know is that the world is based on a deck of cards and the 4 suits/factions/kingdoms are at war. But... more on that when the story actually begins.

The first to go was his top hat. White gloves stood stark against the charcoal dye of the hat and he stared long and hard. He really liked that hat, so it was a pity when he placed it on the rack and stepped further inside, resigning to the fact that he couldn't bring it along.

Royal purple walls were there to great him, every colour brilliantly vibrant, every surface polished until it shined. Gold trim accented everything within, giving the room just a little brighter an appearance, and he smiled as he headed over to the bed.

First to go was his suit jacket. It unbuttoned easily enough, sliding off his shoulders and away from his form to reveal a black dress shirt. It hit the plush surface of the mattress with a soft noise and he took a moment to eye the rich fabrics now so carelessly tossed aside, the blues and yellows somewhat dimmed by the lightly-coloured sheets now surrounding them. He sighed.

As he undid the white cravat around his neck he sauntered over to the full-length mirror against the wall, dull eyes boring into his own reflection as the white cloth was dropped and left forgotten on the floor by his feet. He leaned to the side and reached for a simple grey tie, sliding it around his neck and beneath the collar of his shirt. But before he tied it, the black collar was pulled away to reveal an equally dark diamond tattoo on the side of his neck. He watched as its shape morphed and stretched until what remained was the neat, carefully constructed shape of a spade—simple, yet believable.

The blond pulled on a plain grey vest, straightening it onto his form before doing up the buttons on the front and looking himself over with analyzing eyes. It looked alright... basic, plain, easy to miss. What else, though…

Ah, right. The gloves. But he didn't have black gloves. What a bother…

Taking a deep, calm breath, he eyed the material over his hands, never blinking as he focused. Black splotches of ink burst onto the clean, pure silk of his glove, spreading out across the surface and connecting until none of the original shade was left. He smiled again, letting out a satisfied hum as he glanced back into the mirror's surface—at his face. What to do about that…

Green eyes became blue as he started to shift. He could feel the bones in his face changing, reconstructing as his pallid-white skin tanned and blond strands darkened into a near-black brown.

The change settled and the strange, tingly feeling of his body being altered dissipated, leaving him to look over the results of his efforts with interest and amusement. It was quite convincing, the way his facial structure became so very different from what it really looked like. But one last…

Placing a hand over his chest, he concentrated. When he pulled away he found a crest embroidered across the front, and his mouth stretched into a grin.

His deception complete, the game could finally commence.


	2. Those Who Rule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the actual first chapter, and you should be able to tell after reading it why I put that one scene as a prologue. Anyways, I'll briefly explain a few things... This stemmed from a drawing mah-blackberreh was working on, and she and I expanded on it and eventually I kinda rambled out half a plot and she encouraged it... *glares at her* But yeah, so I started writing a story based off some stuff I've been doing with her, like art and roleplays, so she's gonna be helping make this, even if I'm writing it. This first chapter will answer some questions, and... probably leave you with more. But hey, first chapter, right?

In the dead of night the palace lit up the sky. It wasn't just the usual torchlight—it  _glowed_. Every corner of the kingdom, everywhere within the great wall, the brilliant shine would reach, almost like a beacon to those wandering about and without hope. Rich golds and blindingly white walls were a sight every citizen knew—a comfort even in times of war, when the world seemed to collapse around them.

For the spade king, it was home—just an everyday part of life. Within reach. Nothing special. And on nights like those, it became ordinary for everyone else, too.

One thing he never could understand about his position was the incessant need to socialize. Yeah, keeping up appearances and relationships was important and all, he supposed, but… but did they  _really_  need to host parties every bloody week?

From the inner balcony he watched the currents of people shift and mingle in the ballroom below. He leaned heavily on the rail, his chin resting in his palm, scowl deep and unending. There wasn't a  _point_  to all of it, really… but he'd let his kingdom have its fun. Why the hell not? It was a chance to escape, to unwind…

To forget about the war.

He watched as the 'queen' spoke with some… ah, he didn't fucking know. Some guy who was invited—he didn't pay the guest list more than a quick glance-over. No, the messy stuff was left to his queen—Marco. Yeah, some queen, alright. He'd never let the guy live down that title, no matter  _how_  much time passed.

The war was unending. It wasn't that no side could win; that wasn't true at all. Four kingdoms, in one battle? One was bound to pull ahead at some point. Only, if they did… they'd be wiped out. Upsetting the 'balance' would land the winning kingdom far worse a fate. So they were stuck in a perpetual struggle—one that was now spanning its second century with no end in sight. It was… stressful. Unnerving.

The band started up a new song, a slow and even tempo, and the king watched as most of his guests left the dance floor, couples now taking it over, facing one another and waiting to step into the rhythm.

His eyes scrolled away from the dancers and he smirked, watching as Thatch drunkenly flirted over by the food. That guy would never learn.

The king glanced at the clock, pleased to see that the night had officially stretched into the small hours of the morn, and that soon he would be able to return to his chambers and get a little rest. He'd been up… well, a very long time. Most of it he was stuck on the throne, listening to his people's plights and handing out commands—rather uneventful, but perhaps that was a good thing. And in the morning he could… well, he could sleep in. For once. It'd be a nice change of pace.

And then, one week from now, things would start to change.

They were signing a treaty with the kingdom of clubs.

"Sire?" a voice called from behind and he turned, met with the dark-haired youth who'd been serving him the past few hours. Marco had just hired him, he supposed, as the face was unfamiliar. "Is there anything you require?"

"Hm?" He raised an eyebrow. Most servants knew to just leave him be. "Nah, I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yep," he assured, offering a grateful smile.

The boy bowed low and on his neck, beneath the collar of his shirt, the king caught a glimpse of a small tattoo—a black spade. Simple, but it got the point across, he supposed. And then he was gone, grabbing a tray of refreshments and carrying it about the room.

And he was back to watching people. Like a creep. Lovely.

"Ace," called someone far more familiar, his tone one of complete boredom.

The sound had him grinning. "Greetings, Majesty," he mocked.

Marco, for his part, simply rolled his eyes at the obvious tease. He didn't even properly address it. But, well, he was used to it by now. "What are you doing up here? There are people waiting to speak with you, yoi."

At that Ace groaned, hunching over the rail to glare at his guests. "Can I just… not?"

"Ace—"

"But  _Marco_ ," he whined, turning to face a tall blond. "I'm tired, damn it."

"You're the king."

"I'm still  _human_ , thanks."

Marco heaved a sigh, glancing at the clock to his right with a look of clear contemplation, and Ace was hopeful—because he only ever considered giving in if he wasn't too against it in the first place. "…Alright. The event is ending soon anyway, so I'll tell everyone you turned in early. But  _try_  not to sleep all day, yoi."

The king grinned, clapping his brother on the shoulder. "Will do!"

"Promise?"

"Promise!"

Marco smiled. "Go, then. I'll see you in the morning."

"Yep, g'night."

"Good night, Ace."

Waving to the servant from earlier and beckoning him over, the spade king spun on his heel and down the hall behind the balcony, rounding a few corners and striding across narrow corridors until stumbling upon a set of large, extravagant doors carved with the royal family's crest. He looked back and, sure enough, the servant had followed closely behind, his formal stance never breaking even as the king himself started to slouch.

Flinging open one of the doors, he gestured the boy to follow, stepping into his private suite. Ace didn't waste any time in shrugging off his suit jacket and hat, tossing them carelessly onto the large bed in the corner of the room and expecting his servant to take care of the mess.

The first thing he did afterwards was push open the curtains to the large window at the back of the room and stare outside with a pleased grin. It felt nice to be alone—well, mostly alone, if he ignored the servant.

The one thing he  _didn't_  like was how much light pollution there was. From there, he couldn't see the stars, causing his expression to fall a little. Still, the dark velvets of the midnight sky were nice, even without the 'oh so lovely' view of its usual shining accents splayed across it.

He leaned on the sill, pressing all of his weight onto it as his gaze fell upon the expanse of his kingdom. "What d'ya think?" he questioned, his voice soft as his eyes darted about the view. "'S nice, isn't it? Best view in the kingdom."

"Lovely," came the servant's prompt reply. Ace could hear him moving about the room, tidying a few things up, as were his duties, before making his approach. "I would expect nothing less of the royal chamber."

Ace snorted. What an annoyingly proper way he spoke—so… unnecessarily refined. "Suppose so. This was actually Marc's room before, but I kinda pestered him for it."

"Oh?"

He grinned as he reminisced, shifting his weight and letting out a soft, contended sigh. "We were given our titles really young, y'know? They start namin' them off as soon as they figure out who inherited which talent. Mine… I kinda made the dining hall blow up when I was seven."

The servant's steps broke in rhythm, and he didn't have to turn around to know what expression he wore. "An  _explosion_? That… certainly is impressive."

A rise of laughter filled the silence, and Ace nodded, watching drawn carriages begin to depart the palace grounds as hoards of people flooded the entrances. "They thought so, too. Suddenly I was being told  _I_  was gonna be king. I was the short-tempered idiot of the family, I couldn't—but, well, I  _did._  The room they gave me had no windows, though. Was fucking creepy, 'cause it was isolated at the top of the tower. And Marc, he had this nice, big window…"

"What a kind sibling."

The grin stretched, and he couldn't agree more. "Yeah, he—"

He choked on his words.

White-hot pain shot through his back and he grunted, eyes doubling in size as he felt the sharp, slim end of a blade cut through his insides. It went deeper, tore through more flesh, and he could feel the fabric of his shirt stick to his skin with a warm wetness as blood seeped downward and soaked it.

The weapon didn't linger; it was pulled just as quickly and jabbed into his back again, and before it could be done a third time Ace forced his body to turn, the blade sliding back out as he faced his attacker and snarled, trying to ignore the way his legs shook.

Those wounds were deep. He could feel it.

The servant smiled back. "Hello, your Highness."

_That fucking—_

One arm wrapped around himself, the spade king ignored his pain and lunged forward, his hand igniting in a sudden burst of orange and yellow flames. Without giving the other a chance to react, he slammed his fist into the attacker's cheek and relished in his scream as he doubled over, the fire slowly spreading across his face.

And he knew that so long as he lived, those flames would never go out.

Ace dropped to his knees as he watched the other try and fail to put out the blazing inferno, determined not to close his eyes until the threat was down and out—because bleeding as he was, things were  _not_  looking good. And as he stared his jaw went slack. And he was starting to see just what the  _hell_  was going on.

The colours seemed to melt off the servant. Dark hair was the first to go under the burning of the flames, falling off his body like thick, murky ink and seeming to just vanish as it revealed blond strands. The tan of the skin followed, becoming pale, and the tattoo on his neck—

A diamond. A fucking  _diamond_.

No. No, this couldn't—this  _wasn't_ —

The fire had spread onto his torso and arm, and in an attempt to stop the burning the assailant threw off his suit jacket and tie, the articles burning until not even ash remained—as expected of the spade's talent of destruction. But it had already reached his shirt and skin, and through a burned hole in the sleeve Ace caught a glimpse of the intricate pattern of a large tattoo—and a familiar family crest.

_The king of diamonds._

"Y-you fucking  _bastard_ …"

The blond was clearly in pain as he straightened, accepting that he couldn't stop his body from burning, and it was clear from the agony on his face that even when he grinned, brushed off how much he hurt, that he  _wasn't_  okay. And that was _satisfying._

But Ace couldn't breathe. His vision had started fading rapidly, and numbness spread throughout his body—a very clear, very  _terrifying_ truth that he was reluctant to admit.

Ace was dying. He… he knew that. He knew that he was going to bleed out—that the hope of being saved was already long gone and  _far_  out of his reach. Even if he called for help now, it wouldn't make a difference. But he knew that blond bastard was there with him, still burning and in just as much goddamn pain.

But not for long. The destruction would continue until there was nothing left of his killer.

Not even ashes. And yet still there was that damn _grin_. It was unnerving—like he knew this was going to happen, like he didn't care. And maybe he didn't…

Or maybe he knew he wouldn't die.

No matter—he'd still gotten him back good. If he managed to survive then he'd be forever scarred, and every man and woman from every kingdom would recognized it—would know the cause—and know what he had done.

The diamond king fought through the pain and crouched down beside Ace, chuckling triumphantly even as it caused him to cough, and the victim was sure the blond's lungs were burned. Pushing Ace to the ground and holding the blade to his neck, that eerie grin stretched.

"Suppose I should bid you 'adieu', your Highness. Much thanks for the talent you're about to give me."

Ace's eyes widened.  _Give?_  "W-what—"

He pulled back his arm and swung down, tearing through the spade king's flesh with the blade—

And he felt himself die.

It was fast. He didn't feel much of the pain, his body already so numb. All he felt was the urge to scream and being unable to, and then—and then it  _ended_  and there was  _nothing_.

He wasn't bitter. There was no fear of the unknown, no lingering hatred for his murderer, even as those were the emotions most prominent right before he'd slipped away. All that really remained was the image of that man  _burning_ , and triumph in the knowledge that even if the blond managed to stop the blaze, he'd have to live with the scars it would leave behind.

And be reminded of what he'd done whenever he looked in the mirror.

But something was nagging at him. Even then, in death, some semblance of thought remained, and it didn't feel like a lacking existence but—but more like he just wasn't… really all there. Or maybe it was that he  _was_  there, but there was nothing around him.

The change was short—instant. He was torn away from that state of nothingness and suddenly he could  _see_  again. But… no, that wasn't right. He was  _dead_  and—

And he was staring at his own lifeless corpse.

To say that Portgas D. Ace was scared was an understatement, because in that moment he watched as his body lifted a gloved hand—and he hadn't been  _wearing_  gloves,  _never_  wore gloves—and suddenly his own corpse was catching fire. And he watched, mortified and unable to look away, because  _he had no control_ —

"Thank you again, Ace of Spades."

That voice—he  _knew_  that voice. And he'd felt the vibration in his throat as the words were said, but they in no way belonged to him.

The fire spread, blazing to life across the dead king's body, burning relentlessly until there was nothing left—not even ash. As his eyes continued staring at it, he released… that was his talent—his power, his 'destruction'. But… that wasn't his body, even if he was somehow in it, and…

The diamond king. King… something. God, the man had  _killed_  him yet he couldn't even remember the bastard's name… He'd heard it before, when dealing with that kingdom… 'S' something. Simon? Syble? Something…

_Sabo._

That was  _his_ voice.  _Sabo's_  voice.

He heard noises, but they weren't from the outside world. Instead they were the faint, faded and crumbled words and winds from memories, a flood of them bombarding his mind. None were his own, and he couldn't focus well enough to really  _see_ them, and it was just complete, organized chaos—an utter contradiction, indescribable in any other way.

The next sense to return was touch—feeling—and  _fuck_  did it hurt. It was an agony unfamiliar to him, so horribly strong that it momentarily clouded all thought. Some parts didn't hurt—pockets of skin where the nerves had started to die—but from there it had spread out.

Ace started to realize… that hurting wasn't his own. It was from fire, and he couldn't be burned—because of his talent.

The body was back to moving against his will, gathering the last of the evidence of the crime, tidying the area to remove signs of their brief exchange.

He was in his killer's body. Immobile, completely useless, yet there. How the  _fuck_?

For a while the spade king remained disoriented and confused, the body carrying on and slipping out of the palace— _somehow_  managing to go unnoticed, and he didn't know  _how_  because, though no longer on fire, Sabo was still burned and bloodied—

That ability—his  _talent_. Just what was it? Bloody hell, why had he never paid attention to what Marco said? Never had he regretted his carelessness more than that moment. It was… it involved change, obviously…

_Deception._  Fitting as fuck name for it, too, the bastard…

_'_ _Ah, so lovely how everything falls in line.'_

The words startled Ace. Just like the memories, they were resounding in his head. They were… his killer's thoughts.  _Fuck._

The next hour of travel time was spent simply carrying on like that, with no control, as he tried to grasp just what had happened to him. Cleaning up after his own murder, fleeing a crime scene where he was the victim… the whole thing was surreal.

After a long carriage ride across the expanse between kingdoms, Ace found his eyes now settling on the diamond palace—within its walls, beyond its defenses.

At his enemy's heart. And  _damn_  would that be tempting if he could move.

He could hear it again—those thoughts. They were sporadic, and he doubt he was hearing everything, but there were there—insightful. Sabo was hurting. He could feel that the expression their body wore was one of calmness, but in his head the blond was pained to the brink of incoherent thought, and it wasn't until they'd entered an expansive, solitary room with purple walls and gold accents that he felt the mask of indifference melt away along with whatever disguise he'd put himself in during his escape.

_"_ _Serves you fucking right, you goddamn arsehole."_

The blond's muscles tensed, and Ace felt the surprise in his thoughts. Wait… did—did that mean he was heard?

"…Oh no."

So he  _had_  heard it. They could… talk, then? Sort of? But Sabo's next thoughts were of brushing him off—that he was  _imagining_ it, of all things—and simply set about looking for his medical supplies so he could treat his burns. Why he didn't get a doctor, Ace hadn't the faintest…

_"_ _Far from imagining things, you wanker,"_  he said snidely, his own voice reverberating back to him. Fuck that was strange. So somehow… Sabo had taken his power. And along with the power…  _"Seems that, as you absorbed my talent, you absorbed_ me _along with it. Isn't that wonderful?"_

He didn't even care that he was being a sarcastic little shit.

The body froze. "…Oh  _god_  no. Bloody hell!"

Sabo's thoughts… He knew he'd have consequences to deal with. He knew there would be side-effects. He just didn't think they would be that  _bad_. But he sighed and shrugged it off, believing that it was worth it now that he had 'destruction'. He could put up with it.

Ace  _really_  hated that man.

But then Sabo looked in the mirror, and it wasn't himself reflected back.

It was Ace.

He touched the skin of his cheek, moving the pads of his fingers across his face, his nose, and the structure didn't match up with the reflection. It was  _still_  the body of the diamond king. But what he saw was his victim staring back.

"Oh  _come on_!"

Ace grinned—er, well, he  _thought_  he grinned. It felt like he grinned. Served the bastard right.  _"Didn't really think this through, did you? Murdering me. Stealing and absorbing what is essentially my soul. Or was it that you didn't picture the consequences?"_

Sabo ran a frustrated hand through his hair and closed his eyes, shielding his sight from the incorrect face looking back at him. "More to the point, I didn't  _care_. I knew it would be bad; my talent comes with risks," he stated. "But no matter—it is still worthwhile if I can tip the balance in my favor."

'In his favor,' huh? That… made Ace feel uneasy. Just what—why did he  _do this_? 'Deception' must have allowed him to absorb the talents of others, but... why did he need them?  _Why did I have to die?_

_"_ _What do you mean?"_

"With no ruler, the kingdom of spades will fall. And then the rest." Sabo opened his eyes with a pout—estrange on the one reflected back at him. "Ah, but what a heavy price to pay, being unable to see my  _glorious_  face when I look in the mirror."

Fucking great—he was a narcissist.

Ace focused, trying to see if… maybe there was more he could do. He'd seen memories before—maybe he could more actively view them…

_"_ _You did this to ensure the destruction of my kingdom—but_ why _?"_

Fuck, he was sure he could look, but he didn't know  _how_  and it only frustrated him more. He was confused and stressed and the other king's words made him so goddamn  _angry_  but he couldn't  _do anything_  about it. He wanted to set more of the bastard's skin on fire—wanted to burn him until all that remained was a fucking memory.

Sabo frowned, and that looked far less out of place on his reflection. "Because, your  _Magesty_ , I feel it is about time we get things done around here, don't you?" Ace felt it when their mouth stretched into a grin—that same, sickening grin he saw right before his death. "We've been kept as perfect little puppets long enough. I'll take the spade's lands, then the clover, then the heart's…  _all_  of the kings' talents. And then I will kill the joker."

Kill the… but—that wasn't possible. He kept watch over them for a  _reason_ —because he  _could not be beat_. And this jackass wanted to take him out?

Grabbing the medical kit, Sabo started treating his the scars on his face, still visible in the mirror despite it being Ace's physique that they saw—and it looked so  _wrong_ to see himself with those scars, scars from his own flames. The treatment, however, was no more than first-aid, and with wounds like those he really should have sought immediate medical attention. Why hadn't he? "The overseers will fall soon after. And I will reside above it all."

_"_ _You—"_  He couldn't believe what he was hearing, and panic started to rise from within him—present but not felt, affecting yet unseen, and he wasn't sure how much of living like that he would be able to bear.  _"The peace treaty with the clubs—it was about to be finalized! There would have_ peace _, we would have been so_ close _and then you—you fucking_ killed  _me because you wanted to come out on top?"_

His anger flared with renewed vigor, and he wanted no more than to strangle that body's neck, consequences be damned.

To his dismay, the body's owner went undisturbed as he moved onto the other burns before rifling through the cupboards, likely for pain medication, the bandages left forgotten on the counter. "There's really nothing you can do about it, my dear."

He popped two pills in his mouth and the grin returned as he swallowed them. "You and I both know that your little treaty wouldn't have lasted. Everyone is after one thing,  _Sire_. We'll all do what we can to win. That's how this game works."

…Game? Did—did he just call the war a  _game_?

Fuck, fuck,  _fuck_! Without the treaty being signed, without him being there—

It… couldn't end like that. It couldn't. Because if it did…

_"_ _The king of hearts will make his move. Fuck,_ fuck it all _, you stupid son of a fucking_ whore _!"_

"That louse?" Sabo asked with a raised eyebrow, pushing off the counter and spinning on his heel back into the bedroom of dark purples and golds, taking that moment to get changed. "Worry not about him. He's a rather lax fellow—has remained more or less inactive during this whole thing. He won't find out right away. That being said,  _stop screaming in my head_."

_"Oh no,_ oh no _, I am_ not _going to be silent,"_  the spade king hissed. Shouting was all he had. There was nothing else he could do, so if annoying the shit out of his  _killer_  was his only pastime then he would fucking  _indulge_.

_"Everything I've been working for—everything I've accomplished—it's all been for_ nothing _because of you. So no, I will_ not _stop screaming in your head. In fact, it's not entirely_ your _head anymore, is it? I'm here, and I can't leave, so I'm going to be as loud as I bloody want!"_

Sabo rolled his eyes as he gently lowered his aching body onto the plush surface of the bed, lying on his back to avoid disturbing his burns and staring at the ceiling. "As you wish. That's the reason I chose to go after you first, by the way; you were too loud to ignore, and it made you an easy target."

_"'_ _Easy target' my arse,"_ Ace snarled, trying everything he could to try to gain some sort of control. Being in another's body, having his actions decided for him, was going to drive him mad. There had to be more to it.  _"You stabbed me in the back. Took me by surprise. Attacks like that are cowardly—it's_ pathetic _."_

The fact that he couldn't seem to get a rise out of the man bothered him even more as Sabo replied calmly, "Say what you will, but you're now dead and I have your talent." As if to further mock him, the blond raised a hand to his line of sight, and Ace could feel that all-familiar surge of power and heat as a mesmerizing swirl of fire burst to life on his skin. That was… undoubtedly the talent of the spade king—the one that decided the ruler of the kingdom generation after generation. And he couldn't deny it.

His hand flopped back onto the mattress, and he let out a sigh. "Do you  _know_  what the talent of deception actually is? It was meant for things like this, and I am certainly well-suited to it."

Yeah, no doubt about that. He was fucking  _scum_ , and Ace was starting to see just why the people of the diamond king's lands were so widely disliked.

_"_ _And you're planning on taking out the other kings…"_  He snorted. " _You're gonna die. The king of hearts—no one's ever been able to get close to him, and clubs? Have you even_ met  _Luffy?"_

Sabo chuckled tiredly, and Ace could feel a… shift, of sorts, in his presence. He could feel that his host was starting to nod off, but Ace, himself, felt fine. So… what did that mean for him? Would he… sleep while Sabo did, or would he be forced to lie there, still, until morning came?

"You're speaking to the man whose literal existence revolves around deception. Do you  _really_ think I can't manage? We all have weaknesses—it is simply a matter of knowing which ones to exploit." He yawned, and his eyes fluttered shut. All Ace could see was darkness—that familiar black that pulled him in the moment he'd lost his life.

The spade king knew instantly when the other was asleep. He felt a release of pressure—like a weight was being lifted, like he could  _finally_  breathe on his own. But at the same time, now he  _really_  had nothing he could do, the diamond asshole unconscious and leaving him with no one to talk to, not that he was the best of company to begin with…

For a while he remained like that, completely motionless, unable to see anything or speak or hell, even get a glass of water. His throat still burned, and he'd noticed earlier that Sabo's voice was raspy and coarse, and he knew he had to see a doctor but fuck,  _he_  didn't care what happened to the bastard, so he wasn't about to say anything.

Boredom became almost like torture and he sighed—

He… sighed.  _Really_  sighed. He could feel his lungs expelling the air, and his chest rising and falling with his breath, and for a while his mind went blank. Earlier… earlier Ace hadn't even been able to blink. To breathe.  _Nothing_. Sabo's control was too strong and he couldn't fight it. He thought it was just part of their situation, of being absorbed, but…

Pulling his mouth taut—and it actually  _worked_  and  _listened_  and it was  _brilliant_ —he focused on his hand, on the muscles in it, a far more difficult challenge. At first nothing happened. It didn't respond and he was left wondering if that was yet another limitation to being a forced guest in someone else's body, but then as he tried,  _really_  tried, he felt his middle finger twitch, a rise of excitement bubbling within him. Next was his index finger, then the rest, and soon he was gripping the sheets beneath his resting form with all of that body's strength and  _he could do this_.

With his heart beating rapidly in his chest, a grin slowly splitting his face, he opened his eyes.

There  _was_  something he could do, after all.

 


	3. Act III: Within Reach

The room was dark, barely an improvement from the blackness behind his eyelids, but he went unphased. No, Ace was _far_ too excited to let the lack of visibility get to him. He felt motivation flare to life within him as he clenched his hand into a fist, using as much strength as he could conjure up. It wasn't much, but… it was something. Perhaps with time it would get easier, and he would be able to move freely. He just needed to _try_.

Sitting up proved to be far more of a task, much to his dismay. The strength needed to prop himself up just didn't seem to come to him, and it was only seconds before he was falling back against the mattress with a grunt, hissing as the impact irritated his burns. He had to laugh at the irony of it all; the wounds he inflicted were what pained him. Shaking his head free of those thoughts he tried again, forcing himself upright.

Looking around as he steadied himself, he was met with the deep, royal purples of the room's decor, the colour catching on the dim light shining in from the crack in the door, hall lights still on throughout the palace. If the diamond kingdom were anything like his own they would be left on until sunrise as servants moved about, washing the floors as the other occupants slept. Catching a glimpse of the endlessly-ticking grandfather clock in the corner of the room, he saw that it wasn't very late. No, despite it all there should have still been people up… He'd need to be careful. And how the diamond king could sleep with that goddamn _ticking_ was beyond him.

Ace shook his head. No, he had to focus. There was no time for that.

Marco usually didn't come to see him until dawn, when he'd go around and do his morning greetings, waking everyone up. It wasn't something he had to do, just something he'd always enjoyed. Only… tomorrow they had nothing planned. He would allow Ace to sleep in. No one from the palace would realise until then what had happened—that their king was missing.

 _Dead_.

He had to get back.

 _Alright, you can do this. Take it slow._ Taking a deep, inward breath, he forced himself up off the bed, unsteady on his feet as he tried to keep from toppling over. He felt like a drunkard, that damned body's limbs just refusing to listen. Thatch would laugh if he saw him like that, the bastard. So he waited a moment, trying to adjust his focus to keep from falling on his ass, before slowly shuffling forward. It wouldn't have been so goddamn difficult if he could see properly; Sabo's eyes were shit—

 _...Ah. Right._ He raised a trembling hand to his face, the pads of his fingers running over the fresh bandages covering his left eye. _Completely forgot about that…_

It took longer than he cared to admit, but eventually Ace made his way to the entranceway. His eyes narrowed as he pressed close to the wall, peeking out through the crack to the brightly lit hallway—a nice contrast to his current location, if it didn't leave him so goddamn open and visible. But he wouldn't be discouraged. Oh no, he was going to get the fuck out of there and warn his family of what happened, that the bloody diamond kingdom was making its move. _Again_. Every few years they pulled some new trick… He thought killing their last king would have kept them quiet a while longer. But no, this one was _worse_. Sneaking into his kingdom…

_Focus._

A servant moved down the hall with a bundle in his arms and Ace inwardly cursed, ducking behind the wall before he had a chance to be seen. In all of Marco's lessons, not once had he explained to Ace how one would go about escaping the enemy's territory. One would think _that_ would be a pretty important chapter to leave out. Stupid balding old man…

The man had passed and, releasing a relieved breath, the king slipped out into the hall. It was still hard to move, his motions stiff and burdened by his own difficulties _in addition_ to the aches of his injuries, but he managed well enough and crept down the long, vacant corridor.

Ace was no fool. He know that, appearing as he did, he would have no difficulties wandering about the place. That was their ruler's body—their king—and his presence there would never be questioned, but… he was not confident. In the back of his mind he knew for a fact that he would never be able to pull off the act, never be able to pass for that piece of shit narcissist for more than a second. People would realize. The risk wasn't worth it.

The squeak of creaking wheels met his ears and he froze, his eyes widening as the sound grew louder with each moment. Someone was coming. Someone was coming and he would be _screwed_ if they found him there. Fuck, how did Sabo even _talk_?

In a moment of blind panic he found himself ducking into a room to his left and hurriedly shutting the door behind him, leaning his back against it and listening as the sound passed, footsteps clacking against the linoleum flooring. He was safe.

Except he wasn't.

Ace's attention returned to his surroundings and his eyes widened on a figure across the room, a woman turned around in her seat, her arms resting atop the back of a large, padded chair. Blue eyes blinked at him, large and curious, scrolling across him with acute observation, followed by a deep-set frown. He swallowed, pressing flush against the door as his hand searched blindly for the knob.

"...Sabo?"

He flinched at the name, barely able to remind himself that yes, as of now he was 'Sabo', and forced himself to calm. Alright, he could do this, he _could_.

...Fuck, no he couldn't.

Clearing his throat—god, would he even be able to get his voice working? He hadn't tried—and shifting in place, he straightened his back and smiled shakily. He'd never been good at acting. "Y-yeah?"

The woman frowned, her brow creased in concern as she rose from her seat and closed the distance between them, and Ace found himself pressed against the the door again, as though he was trying to melt into it. She looked him over carefully, grabbing his chin to get a good look at his face and he hissed as it pulled at his wounds. "What happened to you?!"

"I-I uh—"

She didn't wait to listen, undoing the bandages around his eye, her eyes going wide at the sight. "S-Sabo, what—"

Shit. Shit shit shit, somehow Ace knew that he did _not_ want this. He pulled away from her touch and gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I uh, had a bit of an accident," he muttered, looking away.

"How did you…?" The woman pressed her lips together, her gaze roving over the burns with a critical eye. "My god, Sabo…"

So she hadn't known. She'd been unaware of what her king had done, otherwise… Well, otherwise a few burns shouldn't have surprised her. The talent of destruction was well known—more so than the others. That woman also seemed to know him personally, more than any servant would. She addressed him casually, by his _name_ , no less, and he had to wonder if maybe…

Maybe she was the queen. He never really heard anything about the diamond queen, other than the rumor that her talent stood out among the rest, whatever that meant. Honestly Marco might have mentioned something, but the lessons he listened to were few and far between. Now he was starting to regret being such a negligent student… It would have been nice to have at least known her name; it wasn't like he could ask.

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt a small but strong hand around his wrist and he only had time to blink before being dragged across the floor and shoved down onto one of the plush sofas in the sitting area. He sputtered, looking up at her confusedly. She was small but _damn_ was she strong… Though part of that could have been that he just couldn't move very well. When he leaned back on his seat he found himself unable to get up. The cushion was comfortable, and… he was tired.

"Wait here," she commanded, whipping back around to march to the entrance. "I'll go get the doctor." And without a word more she was gone, vanished down the hall.

Well fuck. Now what was he supposed to do? Ace sat where he was, looking around awkwardly at the deep royal violets of the room. The furniture was decorated lavishly, with intricate engravings in the gold accents spaced about, wooden frames carved and hand-crafted. It was nothing like his own palace. Sure the rich decor was something they shared, but this… this was over the top, too much even for him. He stayed there like that, taking it all in. It wasn't like he could leave and sneak away… He was the king. People would notice if they couldn't find Sabo, and as little as he cared about what they thought, he knew he'd be stopped if he tried to leave, at least with that girl now seeing how beat up he was.

Suddenly it was his own fire that was causing him complications. Goddamn it.

Tap, tap, tapping his foot impatiently against the hardwood flooring, Ace almost got up, almost decided 'fuck it' and left. But as he leaned forward in his seat a pair waltzed into the room, a tired-looking old man dragged by the lady from early, and he reluctantly slouched in his seat, a frown on his face.

"No trying to leave," she scolded, arms crossed over her chest scoldingly. She was well-dressed, her robes looking rich and expensive, and that observation led him to thinking more and more that she was part of the royal family—whether queen, jack, or ace, he wasn't sure.

"I won't," he assured with a roll of his eyes as the doctor unpacked his things, ignoring the confused look she gave him. And as the doctor began gently unraveling the rest of his bandages he closed his eyes, allowing his head to relax against the back of the sofa.

So he could move. He could take control while Sabo slept.

But now what?

* * *

Something felt a little off about his sleeping arrangement that morning. Sabo hadn't bothered to open his eyes, his brows furrowed as he shifted in place, his mind returning to wakefulness—except he didn't find himself well-rested amidst an array of pillows and soft linens. No, not only was he not well rested, but he felt just as exhausted as he had the night before… more so, even. He was quick to dismiss it as a side effect of the pain he was in, because as soon as he could think properly he found himself aching all along his face, arms and chest. It had to be that, yes?

It wasn't. It felt like he hadn't slept in days and he wouldn't have moved at all had he not noticed the foreign feeling of his sheets. Fur? He never slept with fur. He _hated_ the feel of fur and, damn it, the servants knew this already. They'd been told enough times.

Slowly the blond's eyes squinted open and he let out a hiss as the morning sun coming in through the curtains momentarily blinded him. Slowly he tried again, being sure to turn away from the light. A deep-set frown crossed his face as he found himself staring at the back of a sofa. That wasn't right. That wasn't right at all. He turned onto his back, staring out into the room and noting the very unfamiliar look of it all. Vaguely his mind began to register his surroundings as one of the sitting rooms… but he had no idea what he was doing in there. He'd never fallen asleep in one of those rooms before… He used to sleepwalk when he was younger, but nothing beyond that.

Pressing his lips together he sat up, his eyes immediately scrolling down to his person, and his mouth fell into a deep-set frown. At first it was a struggle to remember why his arm was wrapped, and his chest, but the memories of the previous night slowly returned, and he inwardly cursed. His eye was damaged and—

His hand lifted, fingers pressing against the closed eyelid. That wasn't right, either. His bandages had covered his eye—sloppily, as his knowledge on how to treat burns was slim to none—and now he could see again. The wrappings left behind were minimal at best, and there was a soft sheen to the visible skin, a cream of sorts covering it. He lightly touched it, making a face at the feeling.

Sabo supposed that Koala may have come to check on him—he usually wished her 'goodnight' before heading off to bed—and got the doctor to tend to his wounds as he slept, but… that didn't add up. That didn't explain why he was here, of all places, and not his bedroom or the infirmary.

Heaving a tired sigh, he dismissed his concerns and forced himself up, wincing as the action pulled at his burns. It looked like he'd be out of commission a while… He still needed to figure out the spade king's talent, as well. Trying then he couldn't seem to produce a single spark, despite how easy it felt the night before… How annoying.

The blond wandered out into the hall, looking around absently to orientate himself; he was in one of the rooms down the hall from the bedroom, it seemed. Perhaps he _had_ sleepwalked, after all.

Soon enough he found himself in the dining hall, a painfully-long long table stretching across the room. It seemed most had left, leaving only Hack, Monet and his sister at the table, the servants already cleaning up after everyone else's plates. Judging by the looks he was getting he'd slept in—a rare occurrence—and as he lowered onto his seat at the end of the table a weighted silence filled the room.

A plate was set down in front of him which he absently ate from, not bothering to address the staring, the sound of forks scraping against plates the only thing to cut through the stillness. Finally he saw Koala lean back in her chair from the corner of his eye, her utensils set down as she fiddled with her pantsuit, and he had no time to ready himself as she asked, "What happened?"

Sabo continued staring at his food, giving himself a moment of thought before meeting her gaze with a smile. "I had an accident."

Judging by the look on her face, his big sister was _not_ impressed, and he could guess why. He was always aversive, and she _hated_ it. "Don't give me that," she frowned. "You said that last night. I want a straight answer, Sabo. They're not as bad as they could have been, but… you're still really hurt."

That wasn't right. He'd been sleeping last night… Did he speak while sleepwalking? Not allowing his confusion to show on his face, his smile softened and he leaned back in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Really, it was just an accident. I'll be fine, I promise."

The look continued a while before falling, and she heaved a sigh. "It'd be nice if you were honest for once." She saw through him, as expected. If he were honest, he actually intended to use his ability to hide the wounds from the people of his kingdom. He hadn't consulted anyone about his little escapade to the Spade kingdom, knowing that at least his Queen would outright protest. That plan fell through rather quickly… "Try to get some rest, then. Don't forget that we're expecting a visit from Clover later on in the week."

"Yes, yes," he waved he off, sighing as he gripped his teacup. He always hated conferences. The queen was always the one to rule the diamond kingdom, as she was the one with the most influential talent… He was more a part of the council than anything, if a member with higher influence than the rest. "I'll be there. I promise."

Pressing her lips together, Koala gave him one last look before sighing and rising from her seat. A short nod to Monet and both women were gone, leaving him to slump in his seat. Hack was the last in the room, the servants off to bring the dishes to the kitchen, and they exchanged looks.

"You worry her," Hack stated bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes, well, she needn't worry; I know how to take care of myself," he huffed, sipping at his tea.

"Do you?" the man pressed, and Sabo stiffened. "You've caused trouble for her ever since you were a boy, and now you come back to the palace all beaten up. Of course she's worried."

Sabo snorted, staring down at his reflection in the tea, frowning when it was Ace's face reflected back. He'd forgotten about that… "I'll heal. And it didn't come without compensation…"

Dark eyes narrowed on him in suspicion. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," he sang, a grin on his face that clearly spoke the contrary. Hack was someone he could trust. Hack wouldn't scold him—not _too_ much, anyway—and would keep what he found confidential unless it could be dangerous to the kingdom. Well, depending on how far his idea of 'danger' stretched, this could most definitely fit into that category…

When Hack's knowing look refused to fade he lifted his unburnt hand, repeatedly snapping his fingers. Sabo found it easier to create a spark that way, and though the first few attempts ended in complete failure his fingers eventually caught fire, flames flaring from the tips, and he watched on with amusement as his old friend's eyes widened.

"That power…"

Sabo pressed a finger to his lips, his grin stretching, "Shh. Our queen won't be to happy if she sees this now. Give it time."

After a moment Hack recomposed, nodding jerkily. "I… I understand."

That taken care of, the king finished his tea and rose from his seat, stretching as he waltzed over to the door. "That being said, I'm rather tired. I believe I'll take up Koala's suggestion and rest in my room today. Call if you need me."

* * *

For the second time Sabo woke feeling tired and… off. Something wasn't right. Not only was he still exhausted despite how long he'd slept, not only was the feeling of his sheets an unfamiliar one, but there was a strange, unfamiliar scent in the air. His nose crinkled up, disgusted by the smell, and he buried his face into a pillow in a desperate attempt to mask it. He was so out of it that he planned on drifting off again, falling asleep.

But there was a knock on the door, firm and unyielding, that jolted his eyes open. And he stared.

The room was bathed in deep reds, the furniture minimal at best, decor simple, and _he knew this place_. But it wasn't his room. No, no, it wasn't even part of the palace, and he felt his stomach drop as his eyes caught on his reflection on the floor-length mirror against the wall.

"Ace?" a muffled voice called through the door, vaguely familiar, and he felt himself pale.

 _"_ _Serves ya right, ya bastard."_ He blinked, sitting up amidst the sheets and clutching at his head. _"Forgot about me so soon?"_

_...Oh no._

He lept he his feet, feeling panic rising in his gut, and quickly changed. His skin darkened to match Ace's tan, hair pitch black as his facial features altered and morphed, until he was left in a body indistinguishable from the fallen king's.

Sabo hurried to the door and opened it, a smile on his face as his eyes found Marco's. "Yeah?"

Marco eyed him a moment before relaxing. "Don't sleep all day, yoi. Lunch is ready."

"Ah, right—I'll be right out."

"Don't take to long, yoi."

"I won't, I won't."

The older man turned away and Sabo shut the door, reciting a mantra of curse words as he slumped against the wall. After a stretching silence he clenched his fist, glaring at the floor. "...What did you do?"

_"_ _I'm not just going to passively observe as you destroy my kingdom. One way or another, I'm going to stop you."_

Sabo snorted, running stressed hand through his hair. Things were starting to get… _interesting._

"We'll see about that."


End file.
